Tearing You Asunder
by A Little Blue Star
Summary: Loki/Reader. Loki accidentally discovers Earth's greatest secret: Warehouse 13. While it might be easier to magic himself inside, that cuts down the chance of multiple intrusions, so he decides to charm one of the Agents into falling in love with him instead.


For once, Loki was _not_ the one behind a spontaneous outbreak of chaos. Of course, given the nature of this particular chaos he wasn't sure he wanted to be even if given the option.

What was supposed to have been a quiet vacation to Portland, Oregon had led the god on a most fascinating, if disturbing, series of events that finally found him lurking in a corner cloaked in mystical shadows and watching with intent interest a pair of people that practically screamed suspicion.

The man and woman both wore absurd purple gloves – latex, probably – and seemed to hardly be bale to go a single minute without jibing each other. Loki had followed them through the wake of such violence between Midgardians he thought briefly that they were the instigators, and it seemed only sensible to keep an eye on potential future rival/allies.

This quickly proved to not be the case, as the pair with Loki in silent tow (convenient thing, shapeshifting, and no one paid attention to birds anywhere in the whole world), showed up at the bars after the police had been called and the mortals still raged in ways that could rival the Hulk. The male had made a jest at such a comparison, earning an absent reproach from his companion.

From their conversation Loki learned that they were agents of a Midgard government of some sort, though apparently not of S.H.I.E.L.D. just as secret. They even identified themselves as 'Secret Service'! Honestly, these creatures. Often they spoke of 'artifacts' and 'Teslas', and communicated with a device that Loki could not at all identify. Perhaps a new Stark invention?

With no other plans, and a passing interest in the pair of strange Midgardian agents, Loki continued to flit after 'Myka' and 'Pete', as he'd identified the two. They surprised him with how quickly they found the individual responsible for the bloody chaos; all too often the god had been disgusted by the dull ineptitude of the mortals on this planet.

And then, to his exponentially growing interest, Loki watched as it was not the run down shamble of a man was their target, but the strange instrument that he put to his lips the few moments before the one named Pete tackled him to the ground. Myka rushed after the instrument as it skittered across the concrete of the alley the cornered the man in, scooping it up with gloved fingers and dropping it into a silvery bag that promptly emitted a bang and flash of light.

The instigator of the chaos was secured by a set of those plastic bands mortals used to hold captive their miscreants, and his pathetic moaning and cursing soon assured the shapeshifted god he was of no further interest, and he fluttered closer to spy upon what proved to be far more fascinating.

"Should have just Tesla'd the guy," Pete whined, limping over to Myka and taking the silver bag she slapped against his chest with a grunt. She took out the communications device and opened the cover.

"Did you get the artifact?" a male voice squawked out of the grille. Loki tilted his little feathered head at the sound.

"Got it, Artie," Pete chimed in, injury forgotten as he held the bag to be seen over his partner's shoulder.

Myka nodded. "We're leaving Eckles to the police, but I don't think they'll be able to pin anything on him."

"No, no, you're right," Artie agreed. "But now that Alcatraz's Harmonica has been neutralized all of the aggression it caused should dissipate within the hour. I wouldn't want to be any of the people in the hands of the local authorities when that happens."

"Speaking of local authorities, I don't want to be around when they finally show up for this guy," Myka added. "Is it okay to leave him here, Artie?"

"It's fine. The rage from the Harmonica will dissipate, like I said, but he'll have one hell of a hangover after. I'll see you back at the Warehouse."

Warehouse? That meant there must be more of these 'artifacts'. Who knows what sorts of things these mortals had tucked away, to think he'd never heard of this Warehouse before. Loki was getting tired of Portland anyways, he reasoned to himself, as he fluttered after the pair of agents.

* * *

Slooooow.

Not that a slow day was a bad day at the Warehouse, mind. But Myka and Pete were chasing an artifact in Portland (on their way back now, truth be told) and Claudia and Steve out in Cleveland doing the same (not coming back just yet). And you, well. You got to monitor the system updates for Claudia while she was gone.

Tilting back in your (Artie's!) chair, idly rolling a freshly sharpened pencil in your fingers, you took a deep breath and careful aim...

"What are you doing?"

Startled by Artie's bellow, the chair kicked back and took you with it. The heavy thud caused a small rain of pencils to shower down on you, dislodged from the ceiling. With an absent note of pride you saw that half were still firmly lodged in place before Artie's scowl filled your field of vision instead.

"Hi, boss," you said, managing your best Claudia-grade smile.

He wasn't amused. Damn.

"Clean these up, and take those down," the caretaker ordered. "And after that you can pick up where Claudia left off on inventory before she decided to ruin my computers."

"Sorry, Artie," you mumbled, biting back the urge to protest or defend the (much needed) updates. Instead you scooped up a handful of pencils, righted the chair, and got a foot up on the desk to pick out the rest, nudging a pile of papers out of the way with your toe.

"What are you doing?" Artie protested, perfectly mimicking himself from not five minutes ago. You froze, one leg up and the other hovering an inch above the floor to join the other. He flapped a hand irritably in the general direction of the door. "Get down and use the ladder."

"Sorry, Artie," you said again, sliding off the desk. As a show of further apology you wiped the (nonexistent) grime off the wood left by your shoe before sulking away.

You _really_ wished the others would hurry back home.

* * *

Following the mortal agents back to their 'Warehouse' was a simple task, and the Trickster god was readily impressed. No wonder he – and to his knowledge, other supervillains – had never heard of or found it. The rusting, overgrown heap looked as if it was practically abandoned. Still, a neat little row of cars were parked along the back of the building and the agents walked inside, not even swiping access cards or retinal scans. Perhaps it was an underground facility, and that would mean security measures of some sort. Would he be able to get past the doors himself?

Loki remained at his perch, the topmost corner of the roof of the Warehouse, a spot chosen mostly because a turret hadn't emerged and shot a high powered laser at him. The summer South Dakota sun had already reached its zenith and was beginning to sink towards the horizon, the heat of the day beginning the slow cooling that would lead to the cold desert night. He wasn't _uncomfortable_, per say, but his feathers ruffled and he stretched out his wings more than once during his vigil. His persistence surpassed such mere annoyances, and as it had countless times before was rewarded.

Myka and Pete emerged some hours later, but they weren't alone. An unknown young woman was with them, the trio exchanging laughter and banter. Despite the obvious friendship between the small group, it was obvious that the unknown woman was the third wheel as the majority of the exchanges went between Myka and Pete with the occasional interjection and laughter of the girl. She even walked a little bit apart from the pair; not enough for most mortals to discern, but many thousands of years had made Loki a master of observation.

Wings fluttering and catching at the bare breeze, the shapeshifter tracked the group as they made their way around the back of the Warehouse to the row of vehicles and finally parted to their own. He continued to watch as all three ground along the raw dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust as they wound their slow way back towards the main road, and only then did he take flight and soar after in their wake on thermals.

* * *

Things always got livelier at the Warehouse and Leena's when the other agents were home, but it also meant that the daily coffee run was more cumbersome. The Last Drop was no Starbucks, but that didn't make their espresso any less amazing, and their rather ample case of baked treats fresh daily was nothing to scoff at. Being the newest member of the group, even after Jinks, the chore had fallen to you, and after the Great Skinny-Vanilla-Soy-Half-Caff-Latte-No-Foam Disaster you had taken to carrying a notepad with everyone's regular order in carefully penned script.

The middle-aged woman named Angie, who owned and ran The Last Drop, was beginning to warm up to you; it helped that you tipped every time you came in. She was even giving you reserved smiles in return to your sheepish, grateful ones as you took the large paper bag of pastries and two carry trays of coffee cups from her. Honestly, couldn't the Regents have come up with a better cover story than the Warehouse being an IRS facility?

You were too busy juggling and rearranging the coffee and pastries so you could nudge open the door that you didn't notice that it was already open until you waved out your hand vaguely for the knob. "You looked like you could use a little bit of help," your savior said, and when you looked up you nearly dropped everything.

He was tall and slim, raven black hair swept back into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. Brilliant green eyes met and trapped yours as he gave a slightly shy smile. "Oh," you finally managed, exhaling a shaky breath. You weren't even sure you said it aloud, but then his smile seemed to stutter and he looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume," he continued. _My god, he's English_, you thought. "Well, I saw you come in all week and I just thought I should finally say hello and this was all I could think of."

Somehow you found the ground and hauled yourself back to it. Well, your toes at the very least. "All week?" you said, and nearly kicked yourself for it. If he noticed that you were parroting like a moron he didn't let on, and he looked even more embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I sound a bit like a stalker, don't I?" he laughed, free hand reaching up to run anxiously through his hair. "I'm new in town. Locke Lowell. I'd offer to shake, but...," he trailed off, making a gesture at your arms full of cooling coffee and paper bag.

It was your turn to look embarrassed, shaking your head. "No, not at all! I mean, welcome to Univille! I'm sorry I can't shake, uh," you stuttered out, feeling your face warm. Locke seemed to relax, however, smile widening. You felt yourself start to grin just from the sight of it.

"Can I walk you to your car?" he asked suddenly, tipping his head to the door that he still held for you.

Under Angie's intense scrutiny (you just KNEW that she was going to tell everyone who came in to The Last Drop about this after you two left) you hurried out of the coffee shop with Locke right behind you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather coat. The 'walk' lasted less than thirty seconds to your car parked ten feet from the door, and you chewed frantically on your lip as you thought of something to say. Unfortunately your tongue decided it didn't need to take orders from your brain, and you blurted out the first thing that came to it; thankfully, it was your name.

Locke repeated it, and you were very proud of yourself for strangling the delirious giggle that threatened to bubble up from your throat. "Here, let me," he offered, taking the two trays of coffee from you before you could protest. For a moment his hand brushed against yours, and you shivered from the cool touch of his skin on yours. It was because of the sun beating down, you reasoned quickly. "You work at the IRS warehouse, don't you?"

The giddy elation that had been building up in you sunk faster than a lead weight in your gut. "Uh, yeah," you said lamely, steeling yourself instinctively. You and the others were not exactly popular in Univille. Stupid cover story! "Yeah, I work at the warehouse."

"I guess that makes us kindred spirits then," he joked. "I work in stocks."

"Oh my god, don't tell anyone here that," you blurted out without thinking, and to your delight it earned you a bright laugh. The leaden feeling began to lighten.

"I'll take your advice on that," Locke chuckled. He held up the coffee – probably half cold by now, you suddenly realized – and smiled winningly. "Would you mind terribly if I walked you to your car again tomorrow?"

The light feeling burst into bubbles then, and you couldn't help it showing in your smile. "I'd like that, yeah."

* * *

Later when you finally arrived at the Warehouse and gave everyone their (cold) coffee, Claudia gave you a look as she gingerly picked apart her strudel with her fingers. "What's got you all happy smiley today," she asked as she nibbled. The stripe in her hair was neon green today, and somehow like always it didn't clash with her auburn hair. You suspected that an Artifact was to thank for that small miracle.

You felt that stupid grin again as you shrugged. "Just really looking forward to tomorrow's coffee run is all," you told her.

Claudia's eyebrows went up, and she leaned forward. "Have you perhaps smelled fudge where there should be no fudge?" she asked with mock gravity.

You tossed a crumpled napkin in her face.

* * *

True to his word, Locke walked you to your car from The Last Drop the next day. And the next after that, and the one following that, and then it was Saturday and you had no work and found yourself sitting across from him in the same little corner table that he was always sitting at when you showed up.

"I hope your boss isn't terribly cross I've kept you the past week," he said as you slipped into the chair opposite him with your mug. He had been reading the Wall Street Journal when you showed up, and when he caught your eye he had flashed you one of those brilliant smiles and slipped the paper aside.

"Artie is permanently cranky," you reassured, "so I wouldn't worry about it. "

With a sudden burst of confidence you surged on, smiling as you crossed your arms and leaned on the table. "So what brought you to Univille? If you say you're on vacation I'll know for sure that you're a secret agent," you teased.

That earned you another of those laughs that made your heart flutter. "Neither business nor pleasure, I'm afraid," Locke admitted, crossing his ankles and settling back comfortably in his chair. "I'm here settling my aunt's estate. That little farmhouse just outside of town, you know it? Esther Burnett."

You knew the place, and saw the little old lady who lived there once a week when she came in to buy her groceries. It suddenly occurred to you that you hadn't for the past two weeks or so, passing it off as simply missing her between your various errands and trips in and out of town. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't-" you started, and Locke waved his hands quickly.

"Oh, no no! She's fine!" he reassured, laughing a little. "No, she decided it was time to downsize. The property was getting to be too much for her to take care of, so we got her settled in Rapid City."

Well that was a narrowly averted disaster, good job! You didn't get to chastise yourself long as Locke spoke again. "I did take a bit of holiday to come down here, though, so maybe I am a secret agent," he teased, and he looked pleased at the smile that coaxed out of you. "I was hoping you might like to show me what sorts of things you do for fun here in Univille, if you aren't sick to death of me already, that is."

A small wash of panic surged up in you. You spent the majority of your time at Leena's or the Warehouse, and you had absolutely no intention of taking Locke to either. Even so, you sure as hell didn't want to pass up the opportunity to spend more time with the handsome, charming man. "No, not at all," you insisted, then perked up. You remembered Claudia telling you something when you first arrived. "There's not much, but the Garden Conservatory is really lovely."

That answer seemed to surprise Locke, but the expression was subtle and quickly gone and you wondered if you ever saw it at all. "I should very much like to see this Conservatory. I didn't realize such small towns would have them," he admitted, and you said as much in agreement. "Shall we take your car or mine?"

"Today?" you asked dumbly, and kicked yourself twice when concern clouded his expression.

"I'm sorry, I didn't even think," he apologized quickly, looking embarrassed and flustered. "You must have had other plans made for today, I just assumed..."

"I don't have any other plans, no, I mean." You faltered then, not sure what you should say exactly that didn't make you sound like a total creep. "I didn't want to keep you from your work at your aunt's, I mean."

Locke still looked unsure, but the lines of worry smoothed out. "Trust me, you would be a most welcome distraction after the week I have had," he reassured with complete sincerity, brilliant green eyes catching and holding you in an intent gaze. Your heart did a little flip flop and you had to pick up your drink before something incredibly dumb came out of your mouth.

* * *

Becoming Locke Lowell had been childishly easy. A routine check would show Mr. Lowell's credit score, bank accounts, previous places of occupation and residence, his school records, and vehicle registration. Why, he even had a Facebook, neglected though it was. Once Loki was _playing_ Lowell, however, well. He wasn't terribly fond of pretending the mundane trivialities of Midgardian social niceties, but the image he cultivated in Univille was vital to the success of his psychological infiltration.

Securing the small American Foursquare had been a bit more difficult, but nothing that Loki couldn't handle. Esther Burnett had, at first, sharply questioned the young man who showed up on her property expressing interest in obtaining the house and land from her, but was quickly swayed by his charm and checkbook. He even went as far as to personally oversee her transfer to the new little apartment in Rapid City, including treasured heirlooms. By the time he finally said his farewells to the elderly woman she was embracing him as warmly as if he really was the family he'd told people he was.

It was when he took that first step into The Last Drop that Loki finally felt his true challenge had begun. He had no trouble slipping into the guise of Locke Lowell, the charm and confidence all Loki's own, and the man's own personal story posed no issue. The Trickster wove lies as easily as he drew in breath and his heart beat. When the Midgardian girl accepted and even welcomed Locke without a hint of suspicion was when Loki felt the first flush of wariness. He knew, no doubt, that she would at the very least Google him, but had to have more thorough investigative tools at her disposal. Not that he had any doubt of his fabricated identity, but Midgardians in the Government were by nature distrustful creatures by his own observation.

But none of the Avengers or men in plain black suits showed up at the door to rudely interrupt his breakfast, and she showed up in The Last Drop once more. Furthermore, she seemed delighted to see him. It seemed that the ruse was solid enough, at least for now, the cautious little voice in the back of his head whispered. It got more sullen and petulant as the days dragged by and still nothing happened besides what Loki could only come to describe as a mundane sort of normalcy. He'd even taken up _running_. It was deeply unnerving to find playing as mortal so... inoffensive, especially one so relatively pleasant and respectable.

In a petulant move to show whatever unseen cosmic force was lurking in the wings watching and snickering at him, Loki found Fenrir and brought him to suffer with his father at the little – and damned if he would admit, cozy – house; of course weaving magic to alter the size of the creature to one of an extraordinarily large Midgardian canine, to which Fenrir protested passionately. He ceased his complaints when Loki permitted his child his fill of the coyotes that lived in the surrounding desert plains, and quickly took to accompanying the god on his morning run.

Irregardless, the moment the Midgardian mentioned something – _anything_ – that would encourage more opportunity for Loki to work his way into her trust he jumped upon the chance. The fact that it was something that he didn't actively dislike was a surprise, but a pleasant one. The god enjoyed nature, mostly for the solitude it offered in childhood, and he found Midgardian plants to be interesting if a little bland compared to Asgardian flora. What surprised him even more was that she seemed to be enjoying herself as well.

Loki expected, in all her nervous but eager childish attention, to have attached herself to his side with constant doe-eyed gazes and laughable attempts at conversational flirting. Rather she seemed as much interested in the collection of greenery as he, reading the plates and plaques that identified species in scientific and common name and places they were most common, and using a sleek phone (not one of the strange contraptions Myka and Pete possessed) to snap pictures of interesting blossoms. The air was warm and a little moist, filled with the rich scent of life and earth and clean water. Loki took in a deep breath through his nose; it was a balm to the dryness of the desert and the polluted cities.

"Have you been here before?" he asked, genuinely interested as he came to look at a flowering succulent she was currently finding the best angle for. Despite his sudden physical closeness and soft timbre of his voice in her ear, she didn't start or flinch from him, and Loki felt a sudden bloom of warmth in his chest at the realization. He detested it instantly. He tried to feel the same towards the mortal as she finally took her picture and turned to him, smiling with ease and embarrassment and so completely honestly happy to be in his presence.

"Locke?" she said, concern clouding her face.

Oh yes, he was Locke Lowell right now, stock broker and mortal. Not Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, master of trickery and lies, Loki the silver tongued. And oh how he _hated_ Locke for that fact in that very instant.

"Let's take a picture," he said suddenly, reaching out and taking the phone from her hand with slender fingers. He felt her shiver at his touch, and hated that she didn't flinch away from him. From _Locke_.

A hand pressed to the girl's back, Loki pulled her to his side as he held the phone up and took a picture before she could protest. She reached up to try and take it from his hand, but Loki held it aloft and swift fingers danced over the keys. "Send that to me later," he said, smiling as he finally returned the phone, and the mortal took it with red-faced silence. Before putting in his own number under the contact 'LL' he glanced at the photo, the bright, easy smile of Locke and the shy surprise of the mortal as she pressed into his side.

He hated it. But still he asked for it, not entirely sure if he was going to just delete it or not.

She smiled to herself as she looked at the photo and new contact, but the expression faltered when she looked back up at Loki. He didn't even realize his hand was still on her back, and quickly took it away to slip into his pocket. "Locke, is something wrong?"

"I'm afraid I have to cut our date short," he said smoothly, only the regret he tinged his voice with false.

"Oh." The disappointment was evident. Loki knew she was frantically going over the events of the day, looking for fault in herself. "I understand-"

"I'd like to make it up to you, if that would be alright," he continued, interrupting. "Can I make you dinner? Tomorrow night at my place, maybe, if you're free?"

"I have to check with my boss, with Artie, but." Her nervousness was palpable. Loki could see the sudden quickening of her pulse under the delicate flesh of her throat. "I'd like that, yes."

Loki gave her a smile, reassuring and pleased. "I'll see you at eight, then," he said, touching her elbow for the briefest moment before walking away and out of the Conservatory.

* * *

When you returned to the Bed and Breakfast you went straight to your room, wanting to avoid their eager questions and friendly teasing. This was moving fast, more quickly than any of the other scant relationships you'd had in the past, and you were absolutely certain that it was going to be too good to be true. You wanted to talk to Myka, but you were afraid she'd confirm your fears. Besides, Locke Lowell had stood up to your rather impressive Googling abilities, and it was just dinner, after all. You sent him the photo from the Conservatory, and almost immediately he replied back with, "Thanks, it looks great!".

You managed to avoid the brunt of scrutiny for the rest of the day, emerging only briefly to find something to snack on around dinnertime, but your luck failed you at breakfast. If you didn't show your face you were certain that Pete would carry you downstairs over his shoulder, so you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and put on a smile as you marched yourself down the stairs and into the dining nook. Five faces were turned, expectant and most definitely curious.

"Morning," you said casually as you slid into your usual chair, pretending you didn't notice the scrutiny you were under as you helped yourself to some toast and coffee.

Pete was the first to break the silence, and it earned him a hearty smack from Myka for the trouble. "So when do we get to meet Mr. Mystery? If he's worth us getting cold coffee for a week we definitely should get to see him- OW, Myka!"

"I've seen him," Claudia chirped, grinning. "He's cute. How did your date go?"

"It wasn't a date," you denied too quickly for it to be truthful. "We had coffee-"

"You've had a lot of coffee together," Jinks pointed out.

"-and we went to the Conservatory. That's it," you finished, scowling at Jinks as he smiled innocently back.

"That's it?" It was Myka's turn, blessed level-headed Myka, and even she was giving you a look that said, 'oh, now I know you don't expect me to believe that'.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, squirming under all the eyes on you. Only Leena seemed to truly be content with you coming forth at your own pace, the serene observer as always. You decided then and there that she was your new favorite and she would be getting a box of candies later.

"He asked if I would come to dinner tonight. At his place."

"Hey, I would be more than happy to chaperon you two crazy kids," Pete offered, narrowly avoiding another swat from Myka.

"You're so going," Claudia said, tone leaving no room for protest. Not that it stopped you.

"But-"

You were immediately drowned out by five agents instantly shushing you. "You should go," Leena finally said after the others had finished their friendly badgering. Damn it all, she was so not getting that candy.

* * *

Claudia and Myka both offered to help you pick out something to wear for your not-a-date dinner, and Pete had put up Jinks to the task, and both men had promptly been chased away by Leena. The two women proved to be little help either, both shooting down the other's suggestions as you sat on your bed and watched as every piece of clothing you owned was draped across the room.

When all outfits and several variations had been rejected at least twice you thanked them both and as kindly as you could pushed them out the door. "I'll just see what I can make do with," you reassured as they hovered in the doorway, and gently closed the door on their faces.

By the time you put everything back where it (mostly) belonged, you went to find something in the kitchen to eat but could barely nibble. You went back to your room and pulled everything back out of your closet and dresser, and by the time you looked at the clock again you realized you only had about an hour left to get ready. After a quick shower you rushed out of the bathroom in a robe and nearly ran over Leena.

The black woman laughed and steadied you as you stammered out an apology and held out something to you. It was a navy blue dress you'd forgotten you owned, and hadn't given it a second glance when you pulled it from the back of the closet. "Here, wear this one," she said, holding your arm as you stammered out an apology.

It wasn't as if you had anything better in mind, so you thanked her as you took the dress and scurried back to your room. You didn't have time to do anything more complicated than a pale lip gloss, brushing and blow drying your hair, and then shimmying into the dress. The skirt swirled just above your knees and sat well. You were surprised it still fit, but you weren't going to fault the dress for that. Shoving your feet into simple, low heels, you scooped up your bag and rushed down the stairs for the door.

"I expect you home by midnight," Pete hollered through a mouthful of chips as you passed by, waving as the door slammed shut without a reply.

The drive to the Burnett place was like a drive to any home around Univille: bumpy and mostly unpaved and billowing clouds of dust. You were used to the roads by now, though, and your car took the bumps and jolts in stride. There was a small wooden gate, left propped open, at the entrance of the driveway off the main road, and you wondered briefly if you should close it behind you. You quickly decided against it, not wanting to risk a trip in your heels, and pulled your car up alongside the conservative black sedan with South Dakota plates and a sticker from a rental agency.

This was the first time you'd seen the Burnett place, if you didn't count driving past on the bad roads (you didn't),and could see why the elderly woman had decided to move. The white paint was chipped and peeling, battered by the sun and hot winds of spring and summer and the chill and freezing rains of autumn and winter. The house looked like it hadn't really been kept up well for at least two seasons, more likely three or four. It seemed lonely and tired on the empty prairie, weeds climbing through the cracks of the wide porch steps.

Still, they seemed solid and firm under your feet as you climbed them, and saw one of the faded flower print curtains twitch. The door creaked open and the screen screamed in protest, Locke grimacing at the sound but smiling as he held both for you. "You look lovely," he said, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to your cheek. You were so surprised you didn't move, overcome with his closeness, his touch, the smell of his aftershave. "Come on in to the kitchen. Don't mind Fenrir."

"Fenrir?" you managed, still trying to find your breath in the lingering smell of him. He put a hand on the small of your back and led you along.

A massive black creature glided across the wood floor polished by years of walking, lifting a heavy skull and setting unnervingly pale blue eyes on you. Locke's hand didn't falter even as you felt the urge to dig in your heels, a thumb rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your dress. Fenrir stared at you a moment more before continuing on and settling himself on a woven rag rug by the back door. "Oh," you exhaled, and took the glass of white wine he pressed into your hands. "That's Fenrir."

"I know, right?" Locke laughed, picking up a second glass of wine and taking a sip as he leaned against a counter close to you. "He's a good running partner, though. Dinner will be done soon."

"I bet. Do you keep him inside at night?" Your head had cleared some and you took the opportunity to look anywhere but at Locke. The kitchen was smelled with something savory in the oven and a pan covered with tinfoil steamed on the stove top. The decoration was sparse, but the wood floors, furniture and cabinets were scrubbed bright and clean, and everything seemed worn but well taken care of. It was a stark contrast to the outside, and not one you would have expected.

Locke glanced at the dog – who absolutely had to have a wolf parent on either side – and hide a smile with another drink. "No, it's safer inside at night," he said. Safer for which, the animals or Fenrir, you wondered as you took your first drink of the (unfairly good) wine. He slid closer to you, and you felt the warmth radiating off his body. He wore black slacks and a plain white shirt unbuttoned twice at the top, voice lowering to a murmur. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday."

"You don't have to," you started, stammering to a stop when his hand slid around your waist. "Really."

"I do, it was good to get out of the house," he insisted, hand steady and gentle on you. "I enjoyed spending time with you."

A screaming buzz ripped through the kitchen and you jumped a foot in the air, Fenrir's head lifting as his ears lay flat against his large skull. Locke looked amused, slipping away from you to set down his glass and take the pan out of the oven; a frittata of some sort by the look and smell. "I'll get you a plate, go ahead and take a seat on the couch. Take the bottle with you."

Wineglass clutched in one hand, you picked up the bottle still over half full and carried it out to the living room. In your daze you hadn't a chance to look over it on your way in, and now took the time to look over the worn furniture. It was very much like the kitchen, and you suspected the rest of the house was the same. Even the low coffee table looked like it was worked from the same tree as the kitchen table and chairs. The couch creaked underneath you as you sank onto it, the springs protesting in a way that only very old furniture could. It wasn't uncomfortable, but not something you'd have in your own home.

There wasn't very much else to look at, and Locke wasn't long following you with twin plates of food and his glass. You suddenly realized you were starving at the sight of the warm French bread and steaming frittata, the nervousness that killed your appetite for most the day gone. "Well that's a good sign," Locke laughed when your stomach growled in anticipation, sitting on the couch next to you. "I hope you weren't starving yourself for this, it's nothing terribly special."

"Just nervous," you admitted, taking the plate he offered gratefully.

"Why ever would you be nervous?" Locke eased himself onto the couch as if he'd been sitting on it since childhood – he probably had been – with his own plate balanced on one knee and his glass in hand. He was close again, the heat from his thigh and side seeping into yours, completely relaxed and almost touching.

"It's been a while since, well-"

"You've been on a date?" he teased. "Me, too. I think we'll do alright, though."

* * *

The more you talked and ate and drank, the more you felt yourself relax, until the plates were empty and you both had finished a bottle and Locke found a second and you were halfway through that together. You felt giddy and light, legs tucked up underneath yourself on the couch as you both sat facing each other, his head leaning against his hand propped up on the back of the couch. Books, movies, places you both had visited all came up. He even recited a little bit of poetry, and you found yourself more enchanted with the rhythm of his voice than the words themselves.

A comfortable lull settled, somewhere between Emily Bronte and the new pulpy spy novel everyone was raving about. The sun had since set, you noticed through the warmth of the wine, and the only light in the room were a small cluster of candles you hadn't noticed before burning on the mantle piece. Locke smiled, warm and languid and so very wonderfully close. "Hello," he murmured, and you were suddenly lost in the flickering lights in his brilliantly green eyes, drawn in like a moth and drowning.

Your breath was gone, stolen by his mouth as you pressed up to him, and you gave it up gladly. Locke took you in his arms, unhurried, a hand winding into your hair as another slid a burning touch up your bare thigh and under the hem of your skirt. His tongue swept across your bottom lip before he bit at it, cutting off your gasp as he slipped into your mouth.

The couch creaked in protest under the both of you as he leaned back, pulling you with him and pressing your hips together. You gasped into his mouth and rocked eagerly, his cock hard and hot against you. "Yes," he hissed, pulling back. You whimpered at the loss then cried out as he bit at the curve of your neck, grinding you down against him once more.

There were too many clothes in the way, and you struggled with the buttons of his shirt until his chest was laid bare before you, pale and lean and hot to the touch. Locke hummed appreciatively as you slid your hands down the plane of his stomach, hand untangling from your hair and cradling the back of your neck as he moved down to the hint of breast below the hem of your dress. "Come on, then," he murmured against your skin, tongue tasting the salt there, and he tugged the thin cloth of your panties down your hips, taunt around your spread thighs. "Take these off."

You forced yourself to pull yourself away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold you felt when you weren't pressed to him, and squirmed out of the damned thing as quickly as you could manage in the tangle of limbs. The instant it was out of the way he was winding himself back around you, tongue sweeping over yours as a hand pressed between your legs. First one finger, then a second, slid into you, rocking you as you cried out into Locke's mouth.

Fingers scrabbling frantically, you somehow managed to unclasp his damnable belt, fumbling with the button and then the zipper. Locke shifted, lifting his hips to wriggle the slacks loose, fingers still rocking leisurely into you, and in thanks you stroked his cock through the soft black fabric of his shorts before tugging down the elastic and pulling him free. He moaned at your touch, eyes fluttering as his head dropped back, but his own movements didn't falter. His cock was hard and so very large in your hand, pre-come glistening at the tip.

At last he pulled his hand from you, the loss making you cry out. You almost grabbed for his hand to pull him back, but he was pushing your skirt up and grasping your hip, hard enough to bruise. You didn't give a damn. He looked down at your hands wrapped around his length and grasped your wrist, pulling you away. "I'll do it," he said, and before you could protest, he was too _big_, rocked and pulled and sheathed himself inside you.

There was pain, and it was so incredibly _wonderful_, and you cried out as he filled you and it felt like you would break, and then he grabbed your hip and your thigh and began to _move_, rocking and moaning and gasping underneath you. Your head dropped forward as you gasped and shuddered with the pleasure, seeing as he watched his cock sink into you, the roll of your hips against his. "God, yes," you gasped, bending to catch his mouth with yours. For a second he seemed startled, the reaction soon lost as he returned the kiss with abandon.

"Touch yourself," he whispered into your ear, kissing a line along your jaw before biting at your earlobe and humming with pleasure at the gasp it drew forth. "I want to see you."

It didn't matter what it was, you were sure that anything Locke ordered of you, you'd gladly do in a heartbeat as he rocked inside you and pressed his fingers into your flesh. You shifted to slip your hand between your legs, whimpering in frustration as your dress slipped into your way, and shucked it off without a second thought. The cold air prickled against your skin, and you cried out as your fingers found yourself. Vaguely you heard Locke groan appreciatively at the sight above him, your flesh bare and flushed as you both moved in tandem. "Come," he ordered, voice strained as he watched you already shaking from the build of pleasure coiling up inside you, so close to tipping over the edge.

A hoarse cry tore from your throat as you came suddenly, the feel of you clenching and grasping his cock tightly undoing Locke and he shifted until he bottomed out, thrusting hard into you as you gasped breathlessly into his shoulder. You whined as you felt his nails dig painfully into your hip as he came soon after, pressing you tight against him as he panted through the wave of pleasure. "Loc-" you started, and his fingers pressed against your mouth.

"Shh," he said softly. When he was sure you would be silent his hand drew away, pressing the flat of his palm to your back. Your heart fluttered in your chest still, soon slowing as you closed your eyes and pressed into the crook of Locke's neck, breathing in the smell of him, sex and sweat and soap. You thought maybe he said something else, but you were too filled with warmth and weren't quite sure as you sunk into sleep.

* * *

Loki did not fall asleep as the mortal lay upon his chest, her breathing evening out into slumber. He waited a few minutes more, not desiring to wake the girl, before easing her gently off and onto the cushions. After a brief second of thought he pulled the worn afghan that lay draped along the back and settled it over her, and she snuggled underneath the warm fabric immediately. He caught himself watching, and shook his head as he padded to the bathroom to clean himself.

Fenrir emerged from the kitchen like a great shadow and followed on his father's heels, sitting in the frame of the bathroom like a terrifying guardian. _Tenderness, father?_ the dire wolf asked, lips pulling back from unnaturally sharp teeth in a terrible grin.

"Honey and vinegar," Loki replied absently, pointedly ignoring the mocking tone of his child. The slacks would need to be dry cleaned, as would the shirt. He wrinkled his nose and dumped them into the wicker basket by the sink along with the stained shorts, and turned on the warm tap. The pipes groaned and protested, but the water spilled into the porcelain basin irregardless and was soon warm enough to his liking and wetted a cloth. "Don't you have dinner to catch?"

_There's a morsel in the other room if you would allow it of me_, Fenrir said, snarling when Loki whipped around and hurled a small ball of magic at the dire wolf. Both knew that it would have done little if it actually struck the creature, but the message was understood.

"I would think carefully of your jests in the future," Loki said, voice filled with dark promise. Fenrir slunk back and melted into the shadows, until only his pale eyes floated there.

_My apologies,Father,_the dire wolf returned with reluctant humbleness, and then the eyes winked out.

Loki stood in the light of the twin bulbs of the bathroom, muscles tense and magic crawling hotly across his bare flesh as he waited. In the distance a howl pierced through the night air, chilling all who heard it and twisting dreams into nightmares, and only then did the god find himself able to relax. His children were dear to him, and there was no question of his love for them in all the Nine Realms, but they were creatures with the same streak of self interest as their father.

Making quick work of cloth, Loki washed the remnants of sex and sweat from himself before donning fresh clothing, not at all ashamed that they were a plain t-shirt and comfortably worn sweats. A few waves of his hand doused the lights and tidied the mess of the kitchen and coffee table, but he kept the remaining bottle of wine and his own glass. The god settled himself into the padded chair beside the couch where the Midgardian slumbered, taking a new hardcover that was half read from the side table into his lap and draining his nearly empty glass.

To Loki's great and deep annoyance, however, he barely made a dent in his book, especially since there was another new volume waiting untouched on the shelf. He did make a dent in the wine, though, finishing the bottle quickly and finding himself sitting through the night lost in thought as he watched the Midgardian sleep not three feet from him. He was not adverse to casual sex, especially with mortals, but rarely did he begin an affair with the intention of it continuing. The success of his plans relied entirely on the success of Locke's relationship, and the very next morning would greatly impact – entirely dictate, actually – how it would continue with the girl.

As the eastern sky began to turn pink and gold, Loki heard the near silent tread of giant paws on wood and felt a heavy weight settle upon his knee. He didn't need to look at his son to know the silent apology, and ran his long fingers through the thick fur affectionately. "Did you hunt well, my child?" he asked, rubbing firmly behind the dire wolf's ears and earning a whuffing sigh of contentment.

_The mortals should give me their thanks_, Fenrir replied with obvious smirking satisfaction. _Are you going to force me to accompany you this morning on your pointless 'run''?_

"Hush," Loki chided, giving the great shoulder a gentle push that didn't even make the animal shift a single paw. "And no, not today."

A stir from under the blanket drew the attention of both, Fenrir sitting up with a look of keen alertness. Loki massaged harder at his son's neck. _Honestly_, the dire wolf snorted, but bumped his head against his father's knee as he stood and padded to the kitchen to sleep off his meal.

Loki sat a bit longer, watching and listening as the subtle changes of breathing told him that she would wake soon. He suddenly felt reluctant to return to Locke, fingers digging into the arm of the chair before relaxing, tensing once more and then unclenching. With a deep breath he pulled himself up and leaned, pressing a knee into the cushions by the girl's hip.

She made a sleepy noise, opening her eyes and looking around, clearly unfocused and not registering where she was. Loki waited as she finally looked up and saw him, a moment passing as she took in the sight of him, and then smiled. "Good morning," he said, and bent to kiss her.


End file.
